


Le château magique

by The_Berriest_Berry



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Mush, Fluff without Plot, Inspired by Music, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Berriest_Berry/pseuds/The_Berriest_Berry
Summary: It is too beautiful.The glistening of snow. The elevating mint of pine. The tang of oranges. How it is so quiet, save for the sweet echoing sound of wind and children. And ~Oh! ~ how that crisps air turns skin to rose petals. How it bring people together.And Flames are beautiful too. Flickering here and there, the smell of warmth, heat. Soft chirping of burning embers emulate a sort of warm taste within the mouth, enough to make one comfortable.And he feels like the story about the sentient city. The one where it becomes its own ship, to find itself, yet he doesn't know it yet.





	Le château magique

It is too beautiful.  
The glistening of snow. The elevating mint of pine. The tang of oranges. How it is so quiet, save for the sweet echoing sound of wind and children. And ~Oh! ~ how that crisps air turns skin to rose petals.  
It is all too marvelous.

And, yet, he, a man of faith, turns his nose to winter’s beauty. He flagellates, walks barefooted, with no protection for himself; he can face the cold.

He finds himself freezing, walking to-and-fro, here to there. Freshly fallen kisses turn to snow broth upon landing on his prickled skin.

At one point, he stops his travels, quietly hiding behind parents and children. It is the story driven music of the talented Jester, his friend ~ or at least a friend of his friend, or someone he could consider a friend, if at least someone who could tolerate him~ that stops him in his tracks, and he is sure that the man has spotted him as well, gazing upward slightly. His face turns soft when their eyes met and he softly miens back at the new instrument ~a hurdy-gurdy it is apparently called~ with a small smile upon his face. The Flagellant can tell the younger has been at it for a while, by the forgiving rouge on the tip of his nose, ears, and fingertips, and apple of his soft cheeks.

The story is simple to understand. It does not need words nor dancers, and one could notice it ~ as he has found ~ at any time, though it is a much more pleasurable experience when listened to fully. It is about a man, who has lost his way, taken in by a strange and wonderful family, who displays him their ways, which he takes in as him own before returning home. It a favourite of the Hamlet’s as he is told.

But when his eyes return to the insturment, the story suddenly changes and a new song takes course, and he is not sure as what to make of it. Soon, instead of a man lost in a forest, he sees a sentient city, of which floats above the skies, slowly becoming self-conscious, becoming a ship of its own making, able to float away, freely, in a successful yet never ending attempt to find itself, to do as it wishes and not become something of someone else's creation. 

And becomes clear ~at least to him~ that the song was about him ~or for him~ and in fear of public attention, he backs away as the original story takes coarse once more, and he finds himself lost in both thought and within the Hamlet.

Though he walks slow with his arms warped around his waist, he keeps the quacking of his body in and walks to clearing and stares outward, staying till twitter-light, and watches the lights that hit the water fade softly. Most everyone was going to bed, and he should to, or face being scolded by his ~not disgruntled~ but vexed friends. Oh how he hates worrying them! 

So he tracks back, letting the wind whip at him, though just before entering the gates, he spots the Abomination of the Hamlet resting, curled against a corner of the old wall, his cloak poorly keeping the cold off of him. He looks like a dead body, gaunt looking with the snow piled high on him. It drives him closer, seeing that, though it is the man’s body, it is the eyes of the beast that shines through, eyes glowing amber instead of forest green.

Knowing this man would do the same, he bends down and brush off the snow startling the beast and waking the man, eyes changing back to green.

“Come with me!” He tells the other, forcing him to stand to his feet. “For I will find you a place to stay.”

He is freezing and his lips have turned blue. He clings to the cloak and the Flagellant can see that his fingers where beginning to do the same, so he clutches the man to his side, keeping him upright and whispering encouragement in his ear when the other begins to doubt himself. They spot the Blacksmith about to close shop for the night. Rushing to the man, they beckoning him a night’s stay. 

Such a kind soul: he scolds them, caringly, rushing them inside, helping to whip the snow of the Abomination before leading them to the ~his~ still burning forge, where they are to stay. The religious one thanks him quietly, sitting down next to his newfound friend, cradling him gently. A blanket, a light grey, wraps around the raven-haired man for warmth, and soon they are gifted privacy, sitting alone in silence.

Flames are beautiful too. Flickering here and there, the smell of warmth, heat. Soft chirping of burning embers emulate a sort of warm taste within the mouth, enough to make one comfortable. 

Now normally, he faces away from the flames. Not exactly worthy for life’s pleasures. 

But here, now, he faces it, with the other man, whom he ~as well as the other religious folk~ can be quiet distant with in public. Yet, in private moments he finds himself close to him, moments like this, where now, the man has stopped shivering, dwelling deeper into his side. It is moments like this he has hidden courage, of which he uses to push the man’s hair away from his face to behind his ear, using the back of his hand to check his temperature.  
“You’re burning up.”  
“Hmmm.”

He stops the Blacksmith, who enters the room, and beckons him to get something warm, whether it is stew or heated water, as the other has turned sick. Thus, it is retrieved, and fed to the Abomination. 

“Why where you out there?” The Flagellant questions, laughing at one point. “Why didn’t you look for shelter? Has no one let you in?”  
“No, others have, or would have, I should say,” The other sniffles, breathing through his mouth, “I simply wish not to bother them.”  
“Oh? Why? You are no bother.” He states. They look at each other, quietly chortling as the other looks away.  
“Or am I not one to you?”  
“True, you are no bother to me. But just to anyone. From what I hear others are pleased to house you a nights rest.”  
“Oh? How come?”  
“You can be easy to get along. You work well, you don’t mind helping others. And you’re quite sweet, which is why you’re not allowed to eat the dates anymore~” The other moves away, laughing.  
“Oh! Is that why?”  
“Yes! “He said, controlling his fits. “Yes, that is why.”  
"Oh. Okay.” He whispered with a nod of his head. “And who came up with that? You?” The Flagellant chuckled again, pulling him closer and resting his head upon the others.  
“Maybe,” He whispered and the other draped him in the blanket, where they fell asleep, awoken by the Highwayman the very next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Guilhem Desq - Le château magique  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soP-VolZi0A


End file.
